by Glenn Stout
Try as he might, Stahl could not walk away from the game, particularly given the sense of failure he had felt with Washington. Traded to New York in 1908, he ended his holdout and reported to camp, making the team and earning a starting spot in the outfield. In midseason he was finally traded to Boston, where for the next two and a half seasons he thrived, reviving his career as a hard-hitting first baseman and his reputation as a first-rate baseball man. Apparently satisfied that he had proven to himself that he could succeed in professional baseball, he chose retirement after the 1910 season.
For any other player a second voluntary walkout would probably have spelled the end of his career, but Stahl was still a friend of Ban Johnson. That relationship and the fact that he convinced his father-in-law to invest in the ball club paved the way for Stahl's return. While that gave Stahl a sense of security unique among all baseball managers this side of Connie Mack, who owned the Athletics, Stahl was sensitive to the perception that he was riding his father-in-law's coattails. He knew that he had to earn the respect of both his players and the fans by his play on the field.
To that end he had spent the winter working out at his old alma mater, the University of Illinois, trying to drop the twenty pounds or so he had added sitting behind a desk. Just before leaving for Hot Springs, he went on a late-winter hunting trip in northern Illinois that left him slogging through waist-deep snow for two days, with only a couple of rabbits to show for his effort. Stahl was accompanied to Hot Springs by his wife and child, one of only a few members of the team to bring his family south.
With his arrival spring training officially began, and from then on Stahl, not McAleer, would be making most of the personnel decisions. There were not many to make. The outfield was set, and if Wagner's arm held up so was the infield. Carrigan, Hick Cady, Les Nunamaker, and Pinch Thomas gave the club four fine catchers. For position players Stahl needed only to select a few utility men from among such contenders as the multi-talented Clyde Engle, infielder Marty Krug, slugging first baseman Hugh Bradley, and outfielder Olaf Henriksen. The pitching staff was nearly set, since Wood, Ray Collins, Charley Hall, Buck O'Brien, and Eddie Cicotte were virtually assured of jobs. The Red Sox expected to carry only twenty to twenty-two players, which left room for only seven or eight pitchers. Fred Anderson, Hugh Bedient, Larry Pape, Jack Bushelman, Casey Hageman, and a few others would vie for the final spot or two.
Although the weather was cold and wet when he arrived in Hot Springs, Stahl was otherwise delighted. Majestic Park, while soggy, was otherwise in fine condition, and the team made the decision to train there the entire spring rather than move to Fogel Field after the Phillies left. John I. Taylor had built the park in 1909, and it held up under the weather much better than Fogel Field or Whittingham Park, the spring home of Brooklyn. Fred Anderson had already taken a turn on the mound with the "All-Americans"—an ad hoc team of early arrivals from AL clubs who were scrimmaging against the "All-Nationals," their NL counterparts—and had pitched well. But Stahl and Carrigan chose to wait a bit before taking the field themselves. Instead they joined former Red Sox pitcher Cy Young, who was in Hot Springs by force of habit before heading off to join the Braves in Augusta, Georgia, on a three-hour jaunt in the mountains.
STAHL PLANS LONG HIKE
Will Take Other Red Sox On 24-Mile Jaunt Today, If Weather Is Not Right For Ballgame
Young had ten years and a good twenty or thirty pounds on his younger companions, but he showed why he had won a record 511 games in the major leagues, including 190 for the Red Sox. His arm may have been worn thin—he would soon retire and not appear in another big league game—but his legs were in midseason form. Wearing a rubber shirt during one three-hour morning romp to force a sweat despite the snow flurries, he left Carrigan and Stahl in the dust. After lunch, when Young wanted to do it again, both Stahl and Carrigan begged off. But a few days later, when Stahl saw his first pitch of the spring, he was in good enough condition that he still knocked it off the center-field fence, serving notice that Boston's offense would be a bit more potent in 1912.
Such performances brought cheer to a dedicated group of Boston fans who accompanied the club south, Boston's vaunted Royal Rooters, who arrived in Hot Springs in force only a few days after Stahl. Even by Hot Springs standards the loud and lively Rooters stood out. They were unlike any other group of baseball fans anywhere else, before or since.
They were led by the self-described "thirty-third degree" baseball fan Michael "Nuf Ced" McGreevey, the garrulous owner and proprietor of Third Base, the baseball-themed saloon on Columbus Avenue that served as the informal clubhouse of Boston baseball fans. McGreevey, who earned his nickname from his colorful manner of ending arguments—banging his hand on the bar and hollering, "Nuf ced!"—originally helped create the Royal Rooters in the 1890s as supporters of the National League club. For the next decade they followed the team with a passion that bordered on obsession, elevating their heroes into something like gods. In McGreevey's saloon, where photos of the players hung on the walls and watched over the proceedings, the season never ended: there the Hot Stove League kept burning during the off-season and baseball—along with local politics—was a four-season pursuit. When half the players jumped to Ban Johnson's new American League team, the Rooters rapidly followed suit. They didn't root for the laundry but for the men who wore it, and players like Jimmy Collins, Cy Young, and Chick Stahl had their full devotion.
Made up of a who's who of movers and shakers in Boston's Irish community, including John "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald, the mayor of Boston, the ad hoc group of businessmen, politicians, and sportsmen was united not just by their Irish heritage and their love of baseball but also by their love of gambling. They took advantage of every possible opportunity to unite the two pursuits. Led by McGreevey, the Rooters traveled together by train; announced their presence at every contest by arriving en masse in a parade, fronted by a hired band; then sat together in the stands, singing their signature fan song, "Tessie," at every opportunity, chanting and cheering throughout the contest. As the group grew the Rooters not only followed Boston teams on road trips but began to make annual excursions to the World's Series, looking for both fun and favorable odds. They soon became the best-known group of fans in baseball, as much a part of the Boston baseball scene as any player. Nuf Ced became better known than most big league ballplayers. And like the players, once spring was in the air McGreevey and his band could not wait for spring training and often showed up en masse. At times McGreevey himself was even signed to a spurious contract, given a uniform, and allowed to work out with the club.
In 1911 relatively few Rooters had managed to make the long trip to California for spring training, but now that the club was back in Hot Springs, dozens made the journey and more were showing up every day. After all, that was where the action was, and on March 5 they got plenty as Hot Springs provided a graphic reminder that it was still equal parts Old South and Wild West.
Late that morning, while the kitchen staff at the Arlington Hotel cleared tables, washed dishes, and began winding down breakfast service in order to prepare lunch, an African American kitchen worker began to argue with a white coworker over a late breakfast order, a dangerous undertaking for an African American in the South. The fight seemed to be over when the African American, who had left the kitchen, suddenly returned with a shotgun. He blasted his white coworker and then fled as the rest of the staff ducked for cover.
According to one newspaper, word that a black man had killed a white man "brought out infuriated white residents en masse," including every Red Sox player in town, the Rooters, and a larger contingent of players from Brooklyn and Philadelphia, who had already started formal practice. Angry residents, players, and fans congregated on the street outside the hotel, then fanned out into mobs of vigilantes and raced through the woods on the outskirts of town, rousting law-abiding African Americans from their homes and chasing after a phantom no one could find. It was a minor miracle that no one was killed
as ballplayers and Royal Rooters alike, wading through the thickets, sometimes emerged to find themselves looking at the barrel of a rifle pointed at their heads. When they all grew tired and bored after a few hours, they trudged back to town in search of a hot meal, a drink, and a place to tell tales of personal heroism. The suspect, who had been hiding in the hotel the entire time, turned himself in before he could be lynched.
Larry Gardner, Buck O'Brien, Hugh Bradley, and Olaf Henriksen and even more Royal Rooters all gathered in Boston on March 7 and left together for Hot Springs on a train with team secretary Robert McRoy, with stops scheduled for New York, Philadelphia, Washington, and Cincinnati, where they expected to pick up a dozen other players on the way. But poor weather was slowing train travel, and their arrival in Hot Springs was delayed until the evening of March 10.
They were not particularly happy when they disembarked. Not only were the players cranky from the trip and disappointed in the damp Arkansas weather, but the Hotel Eastman was packed to the gills, forcing the players to bunk three or four to a room. They exercised together on the lawn of the hotel the next morning to work out the kinks caused by several days of train travel, and they finally took the field together for the first time on March 12. The players were so anxious to get started that they talked Stahl into a scrimmage the next day matching the "Regulars" against the "Yannigans," even though a few regulars—stars like Hooper, Lewis, and Joe Wood—sat out and Tris Speaker had yet to show. Nevertheless the Regulars escaped with an 8–6 win. As the weather allowed, Stahl planned to hold both morning and afternoon workouts so the players could catch up.
Only two days later they played their first spring contest against the Phillies, losing 12–2, a performance that surprised no one, for the players had barely unpacked and most were still sore from the first few workouts. The contest shared little with spring training games of today. Only a few hundred fans showed up to watch, some sitting in ramshackle bleachers and the rest scattered around the perimeter of the field. Some fans were so close that just about any drive that split the outfielders reached the crowd for some kind of ground rule hit.
Perhaps the most intriguing spring participant was thirty-eight-year-old Jack Chesbro. The one-time star for the New York Highlanders had pitched and lost to Boston on the final day of the 1904 season, throwing the wild pitch that, despite his record 41 victories that season, delivered the pennant to Boston. The wear of pitching more than 454 innings that season had left Chesbro lame, and he never again approached that standard. In recent years the Massachusetts native had been reduced to playing semipro ball for spare change. But when he asked for a spring tryout with Boston, the Sox agreed. Stahl and McAleer both hoped he would return to form, but after only a few days it became obvious that Chesbro was better off staying in the bush leagues. Not only did he pitch poorly, but he hardly put in any effort. He flatly refused to break into a trot while flagging balls during batting practice, hardly a way to impress Stahl.
RED SOX WALK, AND THAT'S ALL
Grounds Too Wet And Wind Too Bleak
The way the weather was behaving, there was precious little time for batting practice, for it rained nearly every day and Stahl felt fortunate if he got the team onto the field at all. His biggest challenge was keeping his squad busy, and he scrambled to find outlets for their energy. Early workouts often consisted of hiking, playing catch, taking spring baths, and pursuing pastimes like bowling, billiards, and skeet shooting. Those activities did not do much to get the team in shape but did help the otherwise divided squad forge some slender bonds of trust that had been lacking the previous season. Meanwhile the Royal Rooters whiled away the hours in gambling parlors and brothels or spent their time kibitzing in the hotel lobby, pastimes they liked nearly as much as baseball. Things could have been worse, though. Down in Augusta, Georgia, floodwaters encircled the city, leaving the Boston Braves temporarily isolated, with no way to leave town.
When the weather finally began to improve somewhat in Hot Springs, another cold snap in Boston caused a temporary halt to all pouring of the concrete treads at Fenway Park. As Murnane noted, "As soon as it stops freezing nights work will be rushed 24 hours a day." They had little choice, for a portion of the old grounds had already been sold by the Boston Elevated Company to a real estate developer who planned on erecting apartment buildings where Cy Young had once been acclaimed "the King of Pitchers." Fenway Park had to be completed, or else the Red Sox would have to go begging to the Braves for a place to play, something certain to make Ban Johnson apoplectic. Fortunately, the freeze let up after only a few days, and work at the park took on a more frantic pace.
About the only real concern the club had was over outfielder Tris Speaker. When he had received his contract at his home in Hubbard, Texas, he had snorted and sent it back unsigned. He was fully aware of his worth and didn't entirely trust McAleer. Some years before, when Speaker was playing in the Texas League and McAleer was manager of the St. Louis Browns, McAleer had expressed some interest in the outfielder, only to conclude that Speaker wasn't ready for the big leagues. While McAleer's snub eventually helped Speaker land with Boston, the outfielder still remembered the slight and wanted to make sure McAleer knew it.
Yet even a player as great as Speaker had little leverage, and as A. H. C. Mitchell of the Boston Journal reported in Sporting Life, Speaker "likes a little talk about himself." There was plenty of that before he finally made a leisurely arrival in Hot Springs on March 18, met with McAleer, and after a bit of public grousing signed a contract worth around $9,000 a season.
Although the weather continued to be problematic, the pitchers at least were able to get in their work, something that might have been a blessing in disguise. Unlike 1911, when several players left California with sore arms, everyone was still sound. When the weather cooperated the Yannigans faced the Regulars, and the club paired off with the Phillies for several more games, but it was not until the final few days of March that Stahl finally had the time to do some fine-tuning.
One cause for concern had been his pitchers' appalling lack of concern over stolen bases. In an era when nearly every player in the league was a threat to steal and two hundred stolen bases for a team was about average, in 1911, under manager Patsy Donovan, Red Sox pitchers had concluded that holding runners on was not worth worrying about. Stahl thought otherwise.
On March 28, with the field too wet to hold a full workout but the slick infield perfect for sliding, he ordered a special workout for pitchers and catchers. Duffy Lewis, Steve Yerkes, and a few others whom Paul Shannon described as "not chiefly remarkable for high speed," took turns attempting to steal second. As they did, Stahl instructed pitchers on "a movement that would keep the runner from getting a flying start." In other words, he had the pitchers practice throwing from the stretch position.
The strategy was apparently almost foreign to Joe Wood, and one that he saw little need to master. As Stahl worked with the pitchers, Wood hardly paid attention. When it was his turn to take the mound, he didn't hide his disdain and loafed through the drill. After all, he was the great Joe Wood. What did Jake Stahl know about pitching, except that he couldn't hit it?
While statistics of records such as stolen bases by opponents are incomplete, the fact that Wood reportedly exhibited little concern about base runners may well have been a contributing factor to his relatively disappointing performance thus far in his career. Before 1912 a disproportionate number of runners Wood allowed on base scored, possibly owing, at least in part, to his indifference to holding runners close.
The rest of the staff, cowed by Wood's brashness, followed his lead and also loafed through the practice session. Meanwhile Lewis, Yerkes, and a few others were running themselves ragged, and Cady and Carrigan and the other catchers were growing tired of wasting their time.
Stahl was steamed. Coming into spring training, he had been concerned that because many of his players still knew him as a former teammate they would fail to give him their full respect as mana
ger. Now Wood's insolence was making it abundantly clear that Stahl had been right to worry.
He had seen enough. Yet he did not challenge his player with words or threats of violence. Instead, like a football coach teaching his team a new play, he just kept ordering Wood and his teammates to do the drills over and over and over again, daring them to refuse. Eventually the displeasure of the base runners and the catching staff shamed Wood and the other pitchers into taking the workout more seriously. Shannon reported that it took Stahl "a half an hour" to get through to Wood before he finally began following instructions. That was important, not only for teaching Boston pitchers a better way to deal with base stealing but for demonstrating that even though Stahl was a former player, he was first and foremost the manager of the team and the players—even the almost great Joe Wood—had to listen to him. As Shannon noted, "It was rather disagreeable medicine for some twirlers who have had their own way of doing things in the past, but it showed pretty plainly that Stahl means business."